


Infinitely

by stopmakingsense



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Burglary, Getting Together, Gun Violence, Home Invasion, Love Confessions, M/M, this is a bad fanfic, you should not read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-23 00:52:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15594609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stopmakingsense/pseuds/stopmakingsense
Summary: A horrible thing happens and Brian has some realizations. Pat does too.





	Infinitely

**Author's Note:**

> This is an awful fanfic and no one should read it. My writing style is not even suited for fanfiction but I keep writing it anyway. Because I am a huge, weird, compulsive, ass. Nothing I post is ever beta'd and I barely read through them. Not looking for critique, just being.
> 
> Title in reference to, and opening excerpt taken from "Preludes" by T.S. Eliot.

 

 

_"I am moved by fancies that are curled_

_Around these images, and cling:_

_The notion of some infinitely gentle_

_Infinitely suffering thing."_

 

 

When they finally leave, Brian can barely hear anything. The blood rushing through his body is muffling all of his senses and he’ll probably be thankful for it later. He saw videos when he was a teenager about how to get out of duct tape bindings during an abduction or a robbery, thought ‘ _I’ll never need that_ ’, so he’s jogging his mind now a decade later. After a brief struggle he manages to get himself upright on his knees, tries to take a deep breath through his nose since his mouth is covered, and brings his hands down and back against his torso. It doesn’t do anything but press the tape in tighter and he wants to sob. Another breath, he probably hesitated, he remembers you can’t hesitate. He readies himself again and slams his arms back full force and when his hands break free he lets himself collapse, doesn’t even have the energy to remove to tape from his face yet.

By the time Laura and Jonah get back, Brian looks probably normal at first glance. On inspection though, he has a blooming swell around the pistol whip cut on his cheek, and his wrists are strawberry red, and his eyes are glassy, and he’s trembling like a small dog. The house is trashed and scant of all valuables and Brian is just sitting on the floor in the kitchen. Laura gasps and asks what happened repeatedly until Jonah mumbles something sombre. She must come to then because she collapses in front of him. He doesn’t hug her back for a long minute.

Laura writes the email to Tara because Brian can’t do anything at all apparently. They stole his laptop, he was editing when they came in, so he pulls out his phone and realizes he’s nowhere near dextrous enough at the moment to use that tiny fucking keyboard. She writes it for him on her knees in the kitchen, does it immediately when Brian, phone in hand, tries to croak out that he doesn’t think he can go to work tomorrow (he only gets through some of the words). She looks almost like she’s in prayer as she types.

Jonah is pacing, they ask Brian if they should call the cops, they sit with him quietly, they occasionally ask him a question he doesn’t answer, Laura makes some tea, Brian doesn’t drink it, Jonah rubs at his eyes over and over again, they sit with him quietly, Laura cries only a little bit, doesn’t want to let herself cry in front of Brian, Jonah rubs at his eyes, they sit with him quietly, they sit for a long time.

It’s 2am when Brian tells them he wants to leave for the night. It’s the first full sentence he’s spoken and he’s still thinking about the cold, heavy press of a gun against his head the entire time he says it. He goes to text Pat, for some reason Pat, hoping to god he’s awake. Jonah starks picking things up. Frustrated at his shaking hands, he gives Laura the phone and asks her to call, knows that if she calls twice in succession it’ll break through Pat’s quiet-hours settings. When he answers Laura doesn’t say much, just says in a steady voice “Can Brian stay at your place tonight”. When he can hear Pat’s muffled voice, can hear him answer “Yeah-” without hesitation, he wants to pass out from relief.

Laura drives him there in his own car, says she’ll take a Lyft back so he can have it for whenever he’s ready to come home. Brian rolls down the window even though the AC is on and it’s still 80 degrees outside, he leans on his arm and lets the wind blow his hair into more of a mess than it already was. They sit in silence until Brian reaches over and turns the radio on, which he promptly ignores. Laura can tell he only put it on for her sake, and she is appreciative even though her heart hurts.

Brian’s mind races, and it goes in some directions he doesn’t expect. Initially he’s thinking about what he’s going to say to Pat, then he’s thinking he maybe shouldn’t say much (yet). The drive is long, their neighborhoods aren’t close and New Yorks streets are barely made for driving in some places, and by the time they pull up to Patrick’s apartment he’s come to a few realizations that he doesn’t particularly want to have come to. It’s cliche but it took fearing for his life to understand he’s in love with Patrick Gill. He aches in a lot of ways then.

Pat meets them outside. He’s wearing a tank top in the sticky heat, arms crossed nervously over his chest. He rocks nervously on his heels. Laura didn’t say much on the phone, Brian gave her a silent look of pleading so she wouldn’t, so all Pat knows is that he’s worried to death. He’s never done this before, been the person someone runs to when they need somewhere in the middle of the night. Brian wants to cower away, wants to hide the half of his face that tells a story, but he’s too tired. Pat’s breathing becomes shallow. He exchanges a few words with Laura that Brian doesn’t really pay attention to.

He sets up blankets and pillows on the floor for himself, let’s Brian have his bed. Brian only brought a change of clothes, didn’t bring a toothbrush or toothpaste or anything, so he just crawls into Pat’s bed and stares at the ceiling. The trembling has stopped and the lump in his throat has gone away, so he tries to talk to Patrick as best as he can.

“My apartment got robbed.” He says, much quieter than he meant to.

Pat is sitting on the floor, cramped in by his small room, looking up at the bed patiently. He doesn’t say anything, but he looks scared.

“The first thing I thought about was-” Brian laughs a little bit, genuinely.

Pat flinches.

“Was how I had spent hours editing without getting a chance to save it to my external hard drive, and how I knew they were going to steal my laptop.”

Pat huffs out a little laugh, but Brian recognizes it as incredulous and sad, not amused. Brian thinks about telling him everything, about how tightly the duct tape was wrapped around his wrists, about how one of them dragged him across the floor by his hair, about how he had never seen a loaded gun until he had been clocked by one, about how he wondered if they would just kill him anyway, about how the eyes of the guy who had hit him were almost the exact same color as his own. But he doesn’t say anything else about it, and neither does Pat.

“Will you sit with me?” Brian asks.

It’s an awkward question, it’s way outside of their boundaries as friends and coworkers, but Brian thinks he deserves it just this once. And again, Pat doesn’t hesitate.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to play something?”

“Yeah.”

Pat sits close and Brian curls in, just a little, around him. Pat plays Hollow Knight distractedly, dies constantly and forgets where anything is because his friend is lying in his bed with red wrists and a scabbing cheek, but he knows it helps. Charlie rests on the foot of the bed like he knows something is crumbling and thinks he might help glue it back together. Brian falls asleep eventually.

When it’s time to get ready for work, Pat hasn’t done anything but turn the game off and sit on the floor for a couple of hours looking at his phone. Everything feels like twilight. He’s exhausted but it feels okay, like he should be exhausted right now because it’s what you do in these situations. Despite the hour, he spends too long inspecting the way Brian’s hair falls against his pillow. It seems ethereal, the way each strand knows where to rest. A sheet rests over top of most of his body, but one of his hands sits uncovered on the edge of the bed, and Pat spends some time inspecting that too, inspecting the chipped shine of polish and the tooth-exposed nail beds. He feels guilty for looking eventually.

After a while, Pat stands up and Brian stirs in his sleep, twists so that his bruising cheek is turned up at him, and he shudders when he sees a deep reddish purple climbing up Brian’s eye. He can’t leave yet. He grabs his phone and sends an email to Tara. Laura had told him last night when she dropped Brian off that she had already emailed her last night, so he feels okay being vague. “I’m going to be late today, Brian is here.” is all he has the energy to write, and he knows Tara is good for it.

Brian wakes up to Pat sitting on the floor still, dressed for work and tapping away at his laptop. As soon as Brian shifts Pat glances over at him in a way that feels like he had been checking on him every other time he had stirred, and it makes Brian’s heart do a confusing combination of things.

“What time is it?” Brian asks.

“Ten thirty.” Pat replies softly.

Brian tries not to roll his eyes.

“Go to work, Pat Gill.”

Patrick smiles a little bit and Brian can tell it’s a real smile even with the sad tension in his eyes.

“Will you be here when I get back?” Pat looks hopeful.

“Yeah. Me and Charles’ll hang out today.” Brian smiles.

When Pat gets to work Tara takes him aside for just a second, has a deeply questioning stare, and Pat says “I think he’s okay.” She gives him one of those rare looks of genuine concern, tells him to take care of Brian, and then spends the rest of the day acting like nothing had happened. Pat appreciates it, even though he thinks about marred skin over and over again anyway.

Brian does okay at Pat’s alone for the day, feels safe at least, texts Laura a picture of Charlie at a rate of once every ten minutes, looks at twitter for awhile, plays some video games, doesn’t help himself to the kitchen even though Pat insisted. Charlie never leaves his side and he wonders if that’s just how he is or if there’s some sort of cat-sense that tells him that Brian doesn’t want to be alone. It’s 5:30 on the dot when Pat texts him that he’s on his way home, asks if he wants takeout, and Brian graciously accepts.

When Pat gets home, they mostly pretend nothing is different, but Brian can feel Pat’s eyes on his developing black eye sometimes. For the most part, they talk and laugh like normal, and Brian needs it. They don’t leave Patrick’s bedroom, but it feels safest in there anyway, and Pat wonders how long Brian’s scent will linger on his bed. The marks on Brian’s wrists are mostly faded now, only angry red ghosts remaining, but he still absently runs his fingers across them now and again. When Brian finally goes to leave, the sun waning in the sky, Pat walks him out to his car.

“Please come back if you need to.” He tells him.

Brian thanks him and then opens his car door and stands there for a moment. Patrick leans on the top of the car, hip pressed against the back door, and he looks at Brian. Brian lets him look. Something snaps a little.

“I know this is going to feel like a really horrible idea later, but I kind of thought I was going to die last night and my brain keeps telling me I need to do this,” Brian pauses to run his fingers through his hair and stare up at anything but Pat.

“I’m in love with you. I think. I could be having some sort of mental breakdown but even if I am I don’t think this is part of it. Something happened. Some guy put a gun against my head. Ugh, god, I don’t give a shit.” Brian stops himself because he’s saying random words he doesn’t mean to say and all he really needed Patrick to know was that he loved him.

He doesn’t give Pat a chance to react other than with wide eyes, and he knows its a defense mechanism, but he’s getting in his car and buckling his seatbelt and saying “I gotta go” anyway. Patrick steps away from his car and lets him close the door, stares dumbstruck and watches the tail lights disappear.

When Patrick gets to work the next day Brian is already there. Everyone’s gaze lingers a little longer on him, as if Pat had been the one missing yesterday, and he wonders what anyone knows about anything. Brian doesn’t look up when he walks in, sits diligently working for a bit, and Pat needs to know where things are in infinite ways. Finally, Brian gets up to get coffee, mug in hand, and makes his usual stop at Patrick’s desk to ask if he wants any.

“Sure- lemme come with you actually.” He says on impulse.

Brian smiles and pretends that he isn’t worried that he’s going to be suddenly treated like a fragile thing. The phone room is on their way and Pat stops short in front of it.

“Can we talk for a second?” He asks with his hand on the door.

The way he says it is casual, high and light.

“Yeah.” Brian answers in his workplace voice.

Everyone has half an eye on them as they shut the doors, the click echoing so loud it might as well have been a bomb. Pat heaves a sigh and clenches his fists, unfurls them and lets his shoulders drop. Brian steps a little further into the room and feels like there’s a nebula of spiderwebs surrounding them, only it’s not entirely unpleasant.

“I…” Pat attempts.

“You...” Brian gives, tries his best to joke.

“Can I hold you.”

It’s not a question, not really, doesn’t sound like one at all. It’s more of a defeated plea, like it was something he needed and only just let himself understand. Brian tries to nod but only gets his head up before he’s closing the short distance between them. He’s trembling again. Patrick clutches his arms around him, grasping impatiently like he can’t get their bodies close enough (and he can’t really, doesn’t feel like he can get as close as he needs). Finally he stills, one arm crossed so tight he isn’t sure it’s comfortable, the other wrapped so he can rest his hand on the back of Brian’s head. Patrick clenches his eyes shut. Brian finally cries.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Patrick mumbles it like a mantra.

**Author's Note:**

> look i dont know the logistics of robbing an apartment that probably isnt on the first floor or has a back door im just here to be gross and write invasive fanfiction i guess


End file.
